


Echoes of the Drum

by callmechristinae



Series: The Man Twice Dead [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire discovers an odd Englishman wandering the streets of Paris on the eve of revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting the first chapter of this on my birthday :) This is the second part of my Les Mis/Doctor Who crossover series. It takes place within the canon of Les Mis, with obviously an AU twist. I hope you enjoy it!

_Paris -1832_

The streets were nearly deserted this late at night. Everyone was inside where it was warm, reveling in each other's company while they could. Murmurs of the coming revolution could be heard even in the happiest of households.

This was Grantaire's favorite time to roam. The still of the night and the flask in his pocket helped to sooth the ache in his restless heart. He had meant to stay longer at the Café Musain as Les Amis de l'ABC conducted their meeting, but Enjolras had sent him off with a frustrated glance as they argued once again over the grand cause.

It wasn't so much that he disagreed with their shouts of democracy. Well, sometimes he did. A lot of the time he did. But the bigger issue was he just couldn't work up the same passionate fervor for it as his friends. Nothing was going to change, so why throw your lives away over it?

No matter how many arguments there were, Grantaire kept going. Enjolras' unwavering passion drew him in like a moth to a flame. When they're together Grantaire feels a sense of completeness he's never found before. If only his dear Apollo felt the same.

With shaky hands, Grantaire leaned against the closest building and sketched the alleyway before him. The contrasting light and shadows drew him in enough to distract from his melancholy for a few moments. Children giggled on the other side of the wall he rested against. He thought of Marius and Courfeyrac laughing earlier over the silly drawings they had found hidden in a desk drawer at the Café. He draws the shadows around him tighter, hiding himself in the darkness.

Rubbing his eyes briefly, smudging ink across his nose, he squinted into the darkness. There was a ladder hanging suspended in the air that had not been there a moment before. A man was hopping off it, wearing a burgundy frock coat and a ridiculous matching top hat. A grey woolen scarf flopped against his vest as his scuffed brown boots made contact with the ground. He looked borderline absurd for this neighborhood. He must be English.

The man moved slowly with a sad hunch to his shoulders. He was a man with nowhere to go. Grantaire could relate.

"Sir? Excuse me? Sir?" Grantaire shouted after him. He bundled his things together as quickly as possible while rushing down the alleyway. But when he looked up, the man and his ladder had already disappeared. He really hoped he wasn't having hallucinations again. That's why he had been avoiding the bottle of absinthe behind the bar in the Café.

Rounding the corner, Grantaire discovered the strange man hadn't pulled off any magical disappearing act. He raced up to him and paused by his side to match his slow deliberate strides.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

The man laughed. "Am I alright?"

Grantaire rarely heard that much disdain dripping from the voice of someone who wasn't Enjolras. This time there was no Combeferre to use his disapproving looks to ease the tension.

"It's not exactly common for Englishmen to drop from the sky on mysterious ladders." Grantaire smiled, bringing forth all his considerable charm. The other man didn't even look at him.

"I'm not...oh, never mind." The man picked up his pace, but a determined Grantaire was near impossible to shake.

The two walked in near silence for several blocks. Grantaire would hum a few bars of whatever ditty caught his fancy until the stranger glared him into silence. The man's strong nose and chin, along with those sharp cheekbones, made his fingers itch for his sketchbook. He didn't look like a romantic marble sculpture, but he had his own attractive quality.

"Did you need something?"

Grantaire had to turn to face the other man when he realized he had stopped walking. The stranger stood slightly hunched over with his hands on his hips. "I could go for some dinner."

"Am I supposed to help you with that?" the man asked exasperatedly. His voice lilted upwards as he spoke.

"You could join me. I'm Grantaire by the way."

Dropping his rigid posture, Grantaire's new companion from the sky seemed to accept that he wasn't going to be left alone anytime soon. He shook Grantaire's outstretched hand firmly before slipping his hands into his pockets. He fiddled with his pocket watch as he spoke. "The Doctor."

"I'm not a doctor."

"No, I'm The Doctor."

"Oh! You must know my friend Joly then. He's studying medicine. Sometimes I think he's sticking with it just so he can find more things to diagnose himself with." Grantaire began to walk towards the Café. He could hear boots shuffling behind him as the other man moved to catch up.

"I'm not a doctor. I'm The Doctor."

"I get you. You think you're really good. All other men of medicine must bow before you."

"That's not what I mean. That's my name. It's what people call me."

"They can't call you that. The Doctor? Doctor who?" Grantaire was skeptical, as was his nature.

"Just The Doctor."

"Whatever you say Doctor. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

The Doctor frowned. "I don't think so. I haven't been for a while."

Gripping the other man's elbow, Grantaire dragged him along through the streets. "All the more reason to join me for some food and drink!"

The rest of the walk passed in silence. Grantaire constantly felt words tickling the back of his throat, but the haunted look of loss in The Doctor's eyes kept him from opening his mouth. He had seen the same look when he was a boy on the faces of men returning from fighting with Napoleon. Few came back with the men they had left with. Few came back at all. Grantaire's own father had come back for a short time, but he soon followed after the mind he had left on the battlefield. Mentions of Waterloo made him mourn for a man he hardly knew.

This Doctor had seen battle, and the cost had not been worth it.

The warmth of the Café Musain loosened the tension in his soul. Combeferre, now alone at the main table on the upper floor, acknowledged him with a slight tip of his head. His gaze glanced over The Doctor before returning to the papers in front of him.

"Come," Grantaire ordered with a hearty pat on The Doctor's shoulder. "I will share my drink and you will share your secrets."

"I have no secrets to share."

"You look to me like a man with many secrets."

"Yet none to share with you."  
  
Grantaire laughed, earning himself an annoyed glance from Combeferre. "Some conversationalist you will be. But I am lonely and you are here. We can mourn our losses together."

"What makes you think I have losses to mourn?"

"Your eyes. They look older than you appear. Only loss can age you in such a way."

"Maybe I'm just older than I look," The Doctor smiled sadly. The look on his face only confirmed Grantaire's conclusions. But he didn't press his new companion anymore.

The two shared some leftover pastries from that morning, as well as one of the many bottles of wine Grantaire kept in easy reach. They didn't speak, but Grantaire was happy to spend a meal with someone you didn't give him judgmental looks every time he took a drink. The Doctor seemed to at least enjoy the short rest from his lonely travels.

Quiet voices drifted up the stairwell. Grantaire's heart sped up as it leapt into his throat. He gripped the neck of the wine bottle tightly as he had just been about to refill The Doctor's goblet. The Doctor just observed him curiously.

Then he appeared.

Enjolras passed them by without the slightest hint of acknowledgement. He was deep in conversation with Courfeyrac over the current health of General Lamarque, who appeared to be fading fast. His handsome youthful features, shining golden hair, and fierce passion captured Grantaire's attention like nothing else. Enjolras greeted Combeferre with the warmth that Grantaire hoped would one day be shared with him.

Across the table, The a Doctor looked as if he had seen a ghost. The single whispered word that fell from his lips in almost a gasp was very familiar to Grantaire, but sounded almost alien coming from the other man.

"Apollo."


	2. Chapter 2

_Paris - 1832_  
He couldn't believe it. And he could believe a lot of things. The impossible was a normal Tuesday for him. He was The Doctor. The Oncoming Storm. He was a lot of very impressive unbelievable things. But this had him unbalanced like he hadn't been since...

Grantaire was watching him from across the table as though he had done something completely unexpected. He hadn't even looked at him like that when they'd met in the alleyway and made introductions. The other man's eyes flickered between his dinner companion and the new arrivals. He clearly knew these men, as the one with a mop of brown hair atop his head had raised a friendly eyebrow when Grantaire had raised his wine goblet to him. Could an eyebrow be friendly?

But it was the other man who caught The Doctor's attention. The blonde in the wrinkled white shirt and the undone red vest. He could still remember the pleased appraising look Amy had made when they first saw Apollo on the screen of that wrecked ship.

Amy. Rory. The thought of them still tore at his hearts. He knew they were safe and happy in their New York lives, Amy's epilogue had assured him of that, but his own life was now an unending stretch of loneliness. That was the problem when you lived as long as a Time Lord. Everyone ends up leaving. Or dying. Or both. Sometimes more than once and in the wrong order.

Before Manhattan, The Doctor would have dashed up to Apollo with a flourish of his coat and exaggerated hand gestures. Now he found himself sitting at the table and just watching the effortless way the young man moved. He was younger than the last time they had meant. He couldn't be past his early twenties now. But this could not be the same man who died at 30 on some unknown Dalek planet.

Thinking about the situation rationally, The Doctor's surprise faded away. He'd run into spatial genetic multiplicity before. This man's face was just an echo across time.

Even knowing this, the familiar features brought The Doctor back to a time when he had been happy. He had been in mortal danger. But he had been in mortal danger with his friends.

He met those familiar eyes across the room for a brief moment. There wasn't even the faintest glimmer of recognition. But they were so expressive! The blue eyes grew stormy as they passed over Grantaire, who acknowledged him with a bright smile before taking a large gulp of wine.

"I take it you've heard of dear Enjolras over there," Grantaire stage whispered with just a trace of bitterness in his voice.

"Enjolras." The Doctor thought for a moment, feeling out how the name rolled off his tongue. The rolling poeticism of French syllables was something he rarely had the opportunity to enjoy. "He looks like someone I knew once, but no."

Clearly Grantaire didn't believe him, but he didn't pursue the matter. "I would introduce you, but I'm afraid he and I had a bit of an altercation earlier in the day concerning my drinking habits."

The Doctor watched as Grantaire continued to watch Enjolras forlornly while the other man reviewed pamphlets with a focused intensity that was rare in someone so young. In the short time they had known each other, The Doctor had quickly learned to accept Grantaire's self-medication. But the moment Enjolras entered the room, the hazy buzz of alcohol cleared from Grantaire's eyes. In all his travels, The Doctor found that love was the one emotion that could uplift and injure all at once.

When Enjolras waved Grantaire over, The Doctor quickly found himself forgotten. It seemed a general of some import had fallen ill, and Grantaire was the only one Enjolras believed he could spare to run a minor errand on his behalf. It was clearly a small matter, but Grantaire was beaming at the brief moment of attention it earned him.

As the men spoke in hushed whispers across the Café, The Doctor slipped back out into the cold Paris night. He knew of the coming rebellion and had no desire to witness such an unnecessary waste of life. He caught Enjolras' eyes briefly as he made his way towards the stairs, but he sprang into a jog when the other man took half a step in his direction.

A man in ragged gaudy clothes pick-pocketed the coins The Doctor had in his pocket, so in turn the Time Lord lifted the man's old broken watch. Jack had always made lewd comments about his nimble fingers. He hadn't tested them much in this body. He tended to feel more clumsy than not on most days. His stumbles had always made Amy laugh.

Amy would have loved this. No matter how many remarkable alien worlds she saw, she was always drawn to the moments in the history of her own world that she had romanticized as a young school girl. Even 16th century Venice had drawn her in despite the vampiric alien fish. She had seemed alive in a way he hadn't seen her before as she strolled down those cobblestone paths while holding Rory's hand. If Rory could have seen the way she looked at him when he wasn't watching, he would have never questioned who had a hold over her heart.

He had gone back to that little girl in the garden after Manhattan. He had told her fantastic stories that would sustain her in the coming years and drive her many therapists crazy. Then he went to the anniversary party he had missed out on when he'd abandoned the Pond household out of boredom. They had had a grand seven week adventure where he got to pretend for at least a little while that everything could continue like normal. Then they returned home and finished saving the world (again), but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He lived the boring life all the while knowing Christmas season would arrive and he'd whisk the Ponds off on their last adventure together. He had to say goodbye to them like nothing was changing.

It wouldn't happen again. He hadn't traveled with anyone after Donna. The pain had been too much for that body to bear. Perhaps it would be the same until he regenerated again. Or maybe he'd take some time to visit a few old friends.

He was tempted. All he had to do was hop in the TARDIS, flip a few levers, and he'd be there. He could visit Martha and Mickey to see how married life was for the Joneses. He could search for Captain Jack and find out what had become of him and Alonso. Maybe Wilf would share a hot cup of soup with him.

No. He couldn't risk it. He wouldn't risk them. He was trouble. He wouldn't tempt fate.

A young man and woman passed him on their way to the Café. The man spoke quickly about General Lamarque, who was likely the same man Enjolras had been speaking of earlier. The woman with tired eyes and a slim waist hung on his every word. His eyes drifted between her and his surroundings as he spoke. The Doctor moved swiftly past their one sided love affair.

Leaning against a pillar in the dark, The Doctor suddenly found himself unsure. The empty TARDIS seemed far less appealing than it had in recent days despite its warmth. Sitting and reading didn't seem to be in his plans for the evening. But he didn't know what to pass the time with instead.

Enjolras passed by, his arms full of papers and a bottle shoved precariously under his arm. The Doctor's feet took him from shadow to shadow as he followed. His instincts drew him in the direction his mind knew he shouldn't go.

Paris this time of century was beautiful. The streets hadn't been widened yet for the onset of industry (or for the prevention of any future furniture barricades). The narrow cobblestone paths had a charm to them that couldn't be found in post 20th century cities. The buildings almost resembled a child's dollhouse, often with at least a few crooked joints to them in this poorer part of town. The natural light of fires and candles gave the entire place a golden glow.

The Doctor sat on a plain wooden bench to admire the view. 

"Are you just going to sit there all night?"

Looking up, The Doctor saw Enjolras leaning on his forearms on the open windowsill. He said the first thing that came to mind. "What?"

The answering lopsided grin was the same he had seen on a cracked view screen a lifetime ago. "Come friend, you must be cold."

The Doctor meant to say he was fine and make a quick dash to the TARDIS, but he found himself giving a thumbs up and holding up five fingers. He smacked his forehead hard enough to leave a splotch of red after Enjolras closed the window with another smile. He needed to get his brain and body on the same page before he did something really stupid, like climb the stairs to Enjolras' door.

If he could ram his head into a wall without drawing attention to himself, he would.

Enjolras moved with purpose even when he appeared to be still. He drew The Doctor in with a sharp tug on his jacket sleeve, settling him in a chair with a blanket around his shoulders and a hot mug of tea in his hand. 

"You are a friend of Grantaire's?" he asked. He was shuffling through papers at a worn desk. He didn't bother to sit as he quickly moved on to tuck dirty dishes away into a cabinet and shove his shoes beneath the small single bed. "He's never mentioned you before. I didn't think there was anything he hadn't told me."

Without having seen the two man interact for more than a few moments, The Doctor still knew that fond rueful tone had never been directed at Grantaire himself.

"We just met this evening actually. He thought I could use a warm meal."

"Your French is very good for an Englishman."

"I try."

"What business brings you to Paris?"

The Doctor turned the thought over in his mind as Enjolras settled onto the edge of his bed with his own drink. "I'm looking for something."

"What?"

"I don't know yet."

Enjolras nodded knowingly in commiseration. "You are looking for purpose. A cause greater than yourself to give your aching heart to."

"What makes you think my heart is aching?"

"Those who are fulfilled do not wander foreign streets alone seeking absolution."

Surely if there were ever a person to bend the laws of time for, it was this man. The Doctor knew the failed revolution was only days away. An event that led to such a waste of potential was normally something The Doctor avoided at all costs, but he could remember a night with Amy sitting on the floor of her kitchen. They had been sharing fish fingers and custard while Rory was stuck on an emergency midnight shift. He could still hear the regret in her voice as she talked about how lonely Apollo must have been in his final moments for his imagination to hold onto the thought of a crew waiting for him beyond a door that didn't exist.

This man would not be left to die alone on the streets of Paris.

It took some resorting to open up a space on the desk to set down his mug. Once he was done he turned back to find Enjolras watching him thoughtfully.

"You're right," The Doctor reluctantly admitted. "I've lost more than any one man should have to in a lifetime. No one else should repeat my fate. How can I help?"

Enjolras smiled and reached out. His hand was a comforting weight on The Doctor's shoulder.

"Return to the Café tomorrow. You can help to free the people of France."

It took a strength The Doctor no longer knew he had to smile back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this bit. I hope you enjoy it too!

He woke up to screaming. It wasn't until he felt The Doctor's firm hands on his shoulders that he realized the screaming was his own.

Enjolras was not one prone to nightmares. He rarely even dreamed. He couldn't imagine what had caused his subconscious to go through such an emotional upheaval. He grasped for the quickly dissipating memories and was left only with the sensation of falling and pain.

"Breathe. Just breathe," The Doctor murmured. He had taken a seat on the edge of Enjolras' small bed. The chair at the desk was knocked askew with an open book laying on the floor. The Doctor must have continued to read after Enjolras retired from their late night conversation. Focusing on the little things helped him bring his breathing back to a normal rate.

Sitting up left him slightly dizzy. He was only stabilized by the comforting hand on his back.

Usually, Enjolras found himself locked in a state of hypersensitivity that caused him to push away physical contact of any sort. He could accept it gently from the people he was closest to, but his interactions with The Doctor were so out of the ordinary that he felt like his sense of self was being ripped in two. Yet it still felt like him. It was as though he was discovering a piece of himself that he had lost.

"I'm alright." He forced himself to shrug off the touch and walked over to the dark corner of the room. The cool air brought him back to himself.

The Doctor was still watching him with pained eyes.

"You watch me as though you've already watched me die. I don't even know you," Enjolras whispered.

"I tend to care more than I should and more quickly than is healthy," The Doctor lied easily. Enjolras chose not to call him on it.

"You fear that we will fail?"

"I don't want you to throw your lives away if you don't have a chance at bringing about real change."

"You sound like Grantaire."

"Maybe he's right," The Doctor shouted. He ducked his head to hide the flush on his cheeks when Enjolras' neighbor knocked on the shared wall. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "It's not your job to fix everything. If you appoint yourself a protector of what is true and good the universe will only reward you with pain and misery and there will be no one left to comfort you."

The conviction Enjolras heard was the conviction a man gained only through experience. This was different than the fear he heard in Grantaire's voice when they argued late into the night. The pain The Doctor felt could not be eased by a few bottles of wine.

"I'm not sure I can bring about the change that is needed. But that is no reason to sit back and allow evil to spread unabated. I would rather give my life than do nothing."

"And your friends? You are willing to sacrifice their lives as well?"

Enjolras' heart clenched tightly in his chest. He quickly pushed aside images of Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius, and even Grantaire on the ground, still and bloody with eyes wide open. "What happened to the man I spoke to last night who sought purpose amongst us?"

"My purpose is at your side, but maybe it's not what you want it to be."

"Why should my life mean more than the freedom of the people?"

"Maybe because once, just this one time, I don't want to make the sacrifice for the greater good. Maybe I want to come out of this with the people I care about and damn the rest of the universe."

"How could you live with yourself if you did?"

The fight fell from The Doctor's eyes. "You'll find after a lifetime of sacrifices that you'll give nearly anything to stop the pain for even a moment."

A need to find Grantaire swept over Enjolras so quickly he almost staggered under the weight of it. But once again he brushed the feeling aside. He had no time for such extended attachments to achieve what was needed. Perhaps in the next lifetime he could whisper his apologies and make up for all the harsh criticisms he had thrown out when really he was frustrated with his own fears.

"But why me? I'm no more important than any other man."

"Every being is important," The Doctor answered wistfully. "But you remind me of someone I failed to protect once."

"I'm not him. Helping me won't bring him back."

His practicality, as well as the blunt manner in which he expressed himself, was often criticized by those closest to him. But it only caused The Doctor to look at him fondly.

"It won't. I didn't know him long, but I think this is what he would want me to do."

Enjolras emerged from his corner. He blinked as the bright fire of the candlelight reached his eyes. There were so many facets to this strange Englishman. Usually Enjolras could take the full measure of a person within moments of meeting them. But this man seemed to be coming alive the longer they were together. Each word spoken revealed more emotion that had been carefully locked away. Even The Doctor seemed surprised by his own change.

Reaching out, Enjolras helped The Doctor with the undone bow tie he was fiddling with around his neck. The action caused the other man to freeze. After a beat a slow smile appeared.

"What do you think?"

"I think you look ready for the day to come."

"But do I look cool?"

"I don't understand."

"Nevermind. Let's go!"

The Doctor tugged sharply on Enjolras' wrist. He released him to give Enjolras just enough time to pull on his vest and slip his tie loosely around his neck. They quickly made their way down the stairs to the street below. The Doctor bounced about like the schoolboy Enjolras must have been once upon a time.

There were few on the streets of Paris at this time. The sun had just begun to light the streets and the cold mist of fog still chilled the air. But The Doctor, now without his hat and heavy jacket, seemed in his element. He pointed out every little thing Enjolras took for granted as though it were a miracle to be celebrated. He marveled in the smell of fresh baked pastries and cooed over the bleary eyed children tying their shoes under their mothers' watchful eyes. He couldn't help but laugh at The Doctor's refreshing exuberance, so different from the gloomy figure he had argued with in the dark of night.

Upon reaching the Café Musain, Grantaire eyed them skeptically as The Doctor gleefully darted across the room for a warm breakfast. Enjolras felt the laughter die on his tongue as he met Grantaire's eyes. But for once he was not going to brush the moment aside.

"Good morning," Enjolras greeted. His voice was firm as he took the seat across from Grantaire as the other man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly in response.

"Enjolras," he answered with a nod of his head. He continued to watch Enjolras warily as though he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Enjolras remained silent even as The Doctor joined them and dug excitedly into his porridge.

Silence between Enjolras and Grantaire was rare. They were usually at each other's throats after a few words. Grantaire seemed to delight in the interactions on the surface, but Enjolras saw the way his face fell when he thought no one was watching. Enjolras was tempted to reach out with a comforting hand in those moments despite himself, but then Grantaire would open his mouth to either argue some more or take a swig of his ever present drink and Enjolras would feel the rage rise up from inside again.

Like now, as Grantaire drank his wine without breaking eye contact. In his periphery, Enjolras could see The Doctor's attention flickering back and forth between the two of them as events unfolded.

Instead of shouting as he normally would, Enjolras calmly took the glass from Grantaire's grasp. The other man was shocked into stillness as the fingers brushed.

Taking care not to wince at the bitter taste at the early hour, Enjolras carefully downed the remaining wine. He privately delighted in the way Grantaire was entranced.

"We have a meeting tonight. Please don't help yourself to anymore of the refreshments before then," Enjolras ordered. The smile in his voice reached his mouth when Grantaire agreed without a word.

Hushed conversation broke out quickly at the table the moment Enjolras stepped away. The world seemed to sing around him as the rare feeling of joy made itself known. A new world was dawning, and Enjolras felt ready to rise up and meet it head on. Even the remaining nightmarish flashes of screaming, fire, and pain couldn't dampen the enthusiasm he had found in the early morning light.


End file.
